Shawn's Law (16 page)

Yes. I can tell you that sitting outside those markets while your father points out all your failings is not something you can live with doing every day. But it does make you a better person. It breaks your heart to know that you’ve let down the man who raised you, but it makes you firm your spine and vow to do better next time.

I messaged Shawn immediately and offered to come and help. He messaged me back that he was home and that the doctor had given his mother some pain relief, which had knocked her out for a while. So I replied and told him that I would bring something around for dinner. I ignored his protests and turned up at six with a still-hot shepherd’s pie and a bottle of wine.

He looked disheveled and harried. “You’re a pain,” he told me with a grin.

“As long as it’s a good pain, and even better if it’s a good pain located around your arse, then I can live with that.”

He blushed and let me in. “Mum’s still asleep,” he said, “but I’m not sure how long she’ll be down for. She smashed a mirror and I’ve been vacuuming shards up for about an hour. Do you know how they say seven years bad luck for breaking a mirror? Well, I think that’s because you need to vacuum for seven years before walking on the carpet barefoot again.”

He pointed out the piece of carpet in question, and I could see the pinkish stains where she had bled on the cream color. I put the baking dish down on the kitchen bench and turned to face him. Dad was right—I needed to share the good and the bad.

“Shawn, baby? Go and have a shower. Dinner will wait ten minutes while you go and relax. I’m here now and I’ll listen out for your mum if she wakes.”

Nodding tiredly he trudged off to do what I said, and I looked around. The house wasn’t messy exactly, it just wasn’t neat. There were dishes in the sink, washing unfolded on the chair in the corner, newspapers piled up next to the fridge, and a general air of dustiness. I could tell that Shawn needed a vacation, but what he was going to get was a boyfriend who helped him out. I fished around the kitchen and found the plates and cutlery to set the table while I planned.

By the time Shawn emerged, showered and refreshed, I’d dished up the meal and poured us some wine. “Now I know you said you don’t like wine, but try this one. It’s really mild and fruity.” I’d picked it especially because Shawn had said that he liked drinking Pasito. I could see the tension in his shoulders, so I told him, “After dinner, if your mum is still asleep, I’ll give you a back rub, okay?”

“Yeah?” he asked, looking hopeful.

I grinned. “Yeah. And maybe it will occur in your bedroom with some clothing removed. Just so I can get to those tense muscles, of course.”

He blushed so adorably, I vowed to make him do it again. “I don’t know, Harley. What is it you see in me? Why are you still hanging around?”

I couldn’t reach his mouth from where I was sitting, so I picked up his hand and placed a kiss in the center of his palm. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day. You’ll just have to stick with me to find out.”

An hour later, with his mother still out for the count, we ended up where I wanted. Shawn was shirtless, lying facedown on his bed while I used sorbolene cream to massage the knots from his shoulders. I had removed his glasses before I straddled his waist, pushing him into the bed with my weight so he couldn’t run.

“Relax, baby,” I urged.

“What if Mum wakes up?” he fretted.

“You have the alarm on her door that tells you if she opens it. And remember you said the doctor told you she would probably sleep for twelve hours. Your landline and mobile are right here on the bedside cabinet. And if your mum wakes up, then so be it. But I’m planning to rub all the knots out of your back and shoulders before I strip you naked and do wicked things with my mouth.”

Just saying that got me semihard.

I ignored my cock and worked his back muscles, enjoying the feel of his skin under my hands. I would’ve liked massage oil instead of sorbolene cream, and a few vanilla scented candles and some Indian sitar music would’ve been beneficial, but I can improvise. I felt Shawn relax and sink into the bed. I don’t think he noticed when I removed my own shirt.

After about ten minutes, I climbed off his back and knelt beside him, massaging the smooth skin at the curve of his spine. With each sweep of my hands, I nudged the elastic waist of his shorts down until I could see the dimples just above that meaty butt, and best of all, the start of his arse crack.

As well as being a horny bastard when it comes to Shawn, I’m also extremely manipulative. The back rub was just an excuse. Did you guess?

I slipped off the bed to grab some more cream, and as I told Shawn later, something happened to the tie on my pants, because those cotton trousers just sank to my ankles of their own accord. I knew that Shawn wouldn’t mind, so I kicked them aside and moved back onto the bed with a handful of cream.

“Shawn? Baby?” I whispered, trying not to break the trance he’d fallen into. “I’m getting cream on your shorts. Just lift up a bit and I can slide them off you.”

Have I mentioned about how sexy I find Shawn’s meaty arse? I mean it. Every time we go swimming naked, I have to strip off first and get in the cool water, because if Shawn bends over in front of me, one of two things is going to happen. Either I’m going to ejaculate immediately and probably blind myself from the force of it, or I’m going to grab that delicious flesh and dive deep, without preliminaries.

Nowadays Shawn knows my little secret and tests me out sometimes. I’m going to go blind, I tell you. Blind.

But on that night, I managed to keep it in. I whisked his shorts and briefs off before he could protest and went back to pretending that I was only doing the massage thing for his own relaxation. Man, I was manipulative.

I used more cream and rubbed his muscles at the base of his spine, then moved on to the globes of his arse. I felt him tense up as I moved down, so I kept my hands completely nonsexual, and just rubbed his flesh in smooth, round circles.

My hands, I said. Were my eyes nonsexual? No sirree. My eyes were having a party upon gazing at that skin. I massaged and managed to part his arse and get a good glimpse of the darker skin between his legs. Oh, yes. I was as stiff as the proverbial poker. Before Shawn could get too wound up, I moved down, rubbing cream into his hairy thighs. Then I moved down to those curvy calves of his. See, I told you. Manipulative. As I rubbed his calves and thighs, I nudged his legs apart until I was kneeling between them. Shawn gave out a satisfied little moan as I found a particularly sore part of his leg, so I crept up the bed and had him bend his knee.

While my strong fingers massaged that sore point, my eyes feasted on the new part of his body I had exposed.

I reached for more cream and squirted some on each thigh, up high. Placing one hand on each thigh, I began to rub, moving higher with each rotation. My thumbs kneaded the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs until I came to the curve of his arse. I was dying, holding it in, pretending. So I dug my thumbs into the soft flesh and pulled it apart, holding it there so I could see.

“Harley?”

Shawn’s whisper was a little unsure, but a little excited, so I shushed him. “Shh. It’s all right. You just stay right where you are.”

I applied more cream to my hand and took my first foray inward, brushing against his scrotum. I was sure he’d have an idea where I was heading.

“Harley? What are you doing?”

So he needed more of a hint, did he?

I took one finger and ran it along the entire length of his arse—from crack to balls, smiling as his pucker flexed with the sensation.

“Oh, supercalifragilistic. Harley.”

“Yes?” I asked innocently. “Is there something you wanted me to do?”

He gasped and looked over his shoulder at me. “I don’t think you should be doing that,” he told me with a shocked expression on his face.

“What?” I asked. “I shouldn’t be doing this?” I did it again and laughed as he squirmed.

“No. You shouldn’t be doing that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t rung Kris yet.”

I have never met anyone who can follow Shawn’s brain—apart from Kris. The two of them are scary when they get together, and I was insanely jealous of the man until I was introduced to him for the first time. Shawn met Kris back in high school, but I swear the two of them were actually separated at birth. They share such a history that sometimes they hardly need to speak at all.

The first day I met Kris, he dropped by unexpectedly with his boyfriend. After much hugging and laughing between the two friends, Kris looked at Shawn, cocked one eyebrow, and asked, “Pineapple?”

I was still getting over the shock of Shawn’s best friend having about twenty silver hoops in one ear and only half of his head shaved—the side with all the earrings. Shawn frowned at Kris. “Embarrassment?”

Kris shook his head and said, “Rat’s.”

Shawn answered Kris, asking, “Shoes?”

I was completely confused and looked at the guy I had yet to be introduced to. He turned out to be Kyle, Kris’s boyfriend, and he had more body art than skin showing. Kyle looked as if he was about to scratch his shaven head in bafflement as the conversation went on, the words ping-ponging between the two.

“Handbag?” Kris asked.

Shawn queried, “Color?”

Kris nodded in apparent agreement and sadly said, “Home.”

Shawn: “Money?”

Kris: “Flowers.”

Shawn: “Skank.”

Kris sighed dramatically and turned to Kyle with his hand out. “What?” the big guy asked in apparent confusion.

Kris rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you just hear?”

“Honey,” Kyle said, “I heard a lot of words and didn’t understand a single thing.”

With another dramatic heave of his lungs, Kris explained, “Shawn and I want to do our special pineapple and vodka shooters, but Shawn thinks that it’s too embarrassing that such manly men as he and I do such a girly drink. I told him I don’t give a rat’s arse about it, and he and I are allowed to be embarrassing in front of our boyfriends, who love us. So we decided we’re going to walk down to the local liquor store and get our supplies, because the alcohol and sugar we’re going to be consuming will be dreadful to our waistlines. We need to jiggle off the fat before we do our drinking. But Shawn says I’m not allowed to take my pink handbag, because we may get gay bashed on the way, so I have to leave my bag at home. Shawn also reckons that, since I am the one with a job, and he’s technically still unemployed, I should pay for the drinks. To which I reminded him that I have shelled out for eight lots of flowers in the last six months for all the times he’s been in hospital. But he thinks that I’m a tight arse for mentioning that and is demanding I pay. So can I please have some money?”

See? Only Shawn and Kris could get all of that out of exactly ten words.

So when the man’s name came up while I was trying to indicate to Shawn that I wanted to put him on his hands and knees and fuck the hell out of him, I was a little upset. I had already worked out that Kris and Shawn had a very close relationship, but I didn’t want the man intruding on our intimate time. “Shawn, does this needing to talk to Kris have something to do with you growing your virginity back?”

“Kinda,” he squeaked.

I chuckled. “Baby, if you need me to go extra slow, then I can do that. You just need to tell me what’s going on inside your head. If you don’t want me to fuck you, then tell me. If you do want me to fuck you, then tell me.”

“Argh.”

I belatedly remembered to take my hands off his scrotum so he could perhaps answer me in an intelligent way. “Shawn?”

“Dried up. Shriveled.”

“What?” That didn’t sound too good.

I heard him swallow, and then he sort of muttered into the pillow, “My hole. I swear it hasn’t been used for so long, it’s dried up and shriveled.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to work out how a seemingly intelligent man would think that way. Do you know what? To this day, his reasoning escapes me.

“Baby,” I said gently. “I don’t think it works that way, at all. But let me reassure you, if it is dried up and shriveled, then there’s only one thing for it. Liquid, and lots of it.”

With that, I did what I had wanted to do since that day I first saw him digging in his front garden, wiggling his butt around in the air and giving boners to unsuspecting gay men. I buried my face between those meaty cheeks and dined out.

Shawn

First times and my problems with parking inspectors.

T
HERE
ARE
some things that a gay man remembers and catalogs in his life. His first kiss (April 9th, Kristy Cunningham, ugh), his first gay kiss (November 16th, Troy Chee, yum), his first time giving a blow job (June 18th, Stuart Goode, not so good), his first time receiving a blow job (June 20th, Stuart Goode, oh so good), his first time bottoming (December 26th, Eric Manson, drunk), his first time topping (February 27th, James Something-something-ski, didn’t last).

Now I had a new one for my list—first time getting rimmed (March 1st, Harley Lawson, earth-shattering experience).